After two decades of reporting on some of the most destructive weather events across the Pacific Northwest, I have learned that few natural forces reshape communities as quickly—or as dramatically—as an atmospheric river. The drone footage captured above offers yet another sobering example of this reality. It documents widespread flooding along the Snoqualmie River in Washington State, a region now grappling with the cumulative effects of back-to-back atmospheric river systems that dumped several inches of rain across already saturated terrain.
From an aerial perspective, the scale of the disaster becomes unmistakably clear. What should be a winding river slicing through forested valleys and small rural towns has instead become a vast, churning expanse of brown, sediment-laden floodwater. The Snoqualmie River has spilled over its banks in multiple directions, swallowing fields, roads, and residential areas. The normally distinct edges of the river have vanished, replaced by a broad, muddy floodplain stretching for miles.
In the center of the image, the iconic Snoqualmie Falls, normally a powerful but picturesque cascade, now roars with extraordinary force. The volume of water surging over the cliff is far greater than usual, creating a frothy, turbulent plume at its base. The falls are surrounded by mist, and the river below churns violently, sending waves of water cascading downstream. For locals familiar with Snoqualmie Falls as a scenic landmark, this version of it—overfed and overflowing—is both awe-inspiring and alarming. When the falls look like this, flooding downstream is almost guaranteed.
As the drone pans outward from the falls, the devastation becomes even more apparent. Low-lying neighborhoods near the riverbanks have been transformed into islands. Streets that once connected homes and businesses have disappeared beneath several feet of water. Only the peaks of rooftops and the tops of trees reveal the outlines of what lies below the floodwater. Some houses show water reaching all the way up to their foundations or doorsteps, with waves lapping at the siding. Driveways, fences, and yards are completely submerged.
A winding road in the foreground has been cut off entirely. Vehicles are parked in areas now surrounded by water, indicating how quickly the floods rose—leaving little time for evacuation or repositioning. Tree lines, normally markers of solid ground, now stand knee-deep or waist-deep in muddy water. Their trunks are dark and slick from the river swallowing the land around them.
In the middle portion of the image, what appears to be farmland is entirely underwater. Pastures, grazing areas, and agricultural fields have been overtaken by brown floodwaters that stretch unbroken in every direction. Farm structures, small sheds, and even pieces of equipment are partially submerged. Flooding in these areas is particularly devastating, not only to the livelihood of farmers but also to the region’s food supply chain, which is frequently strained during the winter season.
Even areas farther from the riverbanks have not escaped the impacts. The drone footage shows communities where floodwater has seeped into backyards, crept across driveways, and filled cul-de-sacs that were once dry. Streets curve through neighborhoods like channels, with water pushing up against them as though they were river levees. Some neighborhoods appear entirely cut off, now accessible only by boat or high-water rescue vehicles.
The broader landscape tells the story of why this flooding is so extensive. The hills surrounding the Snoqualmie Valley are heavily forested but still saturated from weeks of relentless precipitation. With root systems struggling to absorb additional moisture and soil stability weakening, runoff has nowhere to go except downslope—straight into the Snoqualmie River basin. Atmospheric rivers are essentially conveyor belts of moisture, often carrying the equivalent of multiple Mississippi Rivers’ worth of water vapor. Over the past week, Washington has been struck by several such systems in rapid succession, overwhelming natural drainage and human infrastructure alike.
Road closures are inevitable in scenes like this. Portions of the valley’s transportation network are shown fully underwater. Bridges that typically span the river now hover above raging floodwaters that reach dangerously close to their undersides. Where roads remain visible, they are slick and partially eroded, presenting hazards for both residents and emergency responders. Power lines stand along the roadsides, but their bases are surrounded by water—a reminder of the risk of downed lines and electrical outages that often accompany flood events.
The storm-soaked sky in the background adds an atmospheric weight to the imagery. Gray clouds hang low over the valley, heavy and unmoving, suggesting that more rain may still be on the way. The landscape is devoid of sunlight, lending a somber, almost apocalyptic calm to the otherwise violent scene unfolding below.
For a journalist who has covered numerous climate-driven disasters, this flooding along the Snoqualmie River is emblematic of a troubling trend in the Pacific Northwest. Atmospheric rivers—once notable but infrequent—are growing more common and more intense. Warmer ocean temperatures allow these moisture-rich systems to form more easily and carry far greater volumes of water. When they arrive in rapid succession, as they did here, the land simply cannot recover between storms. The result is compound flooding events like the one pictured, where each new rainfall builds upon the damage of the previous one.
The human impact, though not directly visible in this aerial sH๏τ, is profound. Families living in these flooded neighborhoods face evacuation, damaged property, and uncertainty about when or if they can return. Roads cut off by floodwaters mean delays in emergency medical services, school closures, and disruptions to commerce. Residents with livestock must relocate animals or risk losing them. Businesses forced to close temporarily may struggle to recover financially.
The environmental consequences are equally significant. Floodwaters laden with sediment can erode riverbanks, destroy salmon spawning grounds, and carry pollutants into downstream ecosystems. Debris—everything from fencing material to household items—flows downstream, adding to cleanup efforts that can take months. And if landslides begin on the saturated hillsides, the damage will extend even beyond these visible flood zones.
Yet the image also carries a strange beauty—a reminder of the powerful forces that shape the landscape of Washington. The forests remain resilient, standing tall despite the inundation. The cascading Snoqualmie Falls continues to thunder, as it has for thousands of years, indifferent to the havoc downstream. And from the perspective of the drone, the flooded valley takes on an eerie calm, as though the world itself is holding its breath between storms.
But for the people living in the Snoqualmie Valley, there is no calm—only the long process of waiting for waters to recede, ᴀssessing the damage, and rebuilding their lives once more. This flood, like so many I’ve reported on during my career, is a stark reminder of the growing challenges communities face in an era of intensified weather events. What was once considered a “hundred-year flood” now seems to occur every few winters.
For now, the drone footage provides a critical window into the scope of the disaster—a view that underscores not just the flooding of today, but the urgent need for preparation, adaptation, and resilience in the storms of tomorrow.
